


Time heals all wounds

by Inspirationfeedscreatiivity



Series: Love isn't always on time [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Sexual Content, alternative universe, bff au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 07:50:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4779521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inspirationfeedscreatiivity/pseuds/Inspirationfeedscreatiivity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've dealt with my ghosts and I've// faced all my demons// Finally content with a past I regret// I´ve found you find strength in your moments of weakness// For once Im at peace with myself// I´ve been burdened with blame// Trapped in the past for too long// I´m movin on</p><p>― Rascal Flatts, <em>I´m moving on</em></p><p>Clarke´s POV</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time heals all wounds

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so very very much for reading, commenting and giving kudos. I wouldn´t still be wriiting this story if it wasn´t for you guys, so thank you so much for this. Hope you like this installment, we are getting close to end now. Leave a comment and tell me to go hide under a rock or something after reading this part! Thank you yet again! -Em

_September_

There are two things that life has taught you up until this point.

 _One_. Love can not save you from death and sorrow.

 _Two_. You can not teach your heart to not feel for the people in your life.

No. Not people. _Person_. A person you had and lost within the time it took for you to see things clearly for the first time in your entire life. A person you let slip through your fingers when all you had to do was to do the right thing.

A person you will never see again.

That's the one thought on repeat on your mind. Although you try your best at suppressing it with classwork. But it's there, every minute of every day, it's there as a reminder of the summer you spent wishing that she'd come back. But she didn't.

And all you hear, from those who still are in contact with her, is that she's never coming back.

You'll never see her again and that's exactly what she wants.

When people talk about heartache they usually talk about the romantic kind of love that has been lost. Yet, you've never felt like this when you parted with someone you'd been in a relationship with. No heartbreak has been as bad as this one. The one caused by losing your best friend.

The problem with living alone in an apartment made for two, and having to cover the whole rent becomes a serious problem after the first month of being back at college. So you decide to move. There's nothing stopping you and really, you need a break from that place. When you first mentioned it to Octavia she, like the kindhearted girl she is, offered to you to stay at hers. Only, she's living in a dorm and even though you didn't see a problem with crashing on her couch for a couple of days it felt wrong to occupy her already limited space. That was when Bellamy told you about the spare bedroom he hadn't been able to rent out to anyone, apparently had the guy that used to his roommate decided to quit college for unlimited time. 

(You quickly learn one more thing that month; the Blakes are the most loving and caring people left in your life.)

So that's where you find yourself - in the second bedroom in Bellamy´s apartment, one door away from where you used to live happily an eternity ago. It serves as a comfort in many ways, mostly because you've quickly grown to appreciate Bellamy and his lack of ability to tiptoe around you. Even if you haven't gotten around to actually telling him that or that when you tell him to shut up at 11 pm at nights when he shuffles around the apartment, you never do because he´s bothering you, it´s more the attitude you have towards each other. When it comes down to it, listening to him wander around and do whatever he does, it provides comfort and a sense of safety. And you know now that you're bad at living alone, something you should have noticed during the summer but was too caught up to feel.

But, it also hurts. Living so close to a lot of memories. What sometimes feels like a whole life of memories. More than once have you stopped in front of that door, tried to open it with a key that fits the lock but won´t turn it, only to come to your senses and realize the simple truth. Maybe it's exactly what you deserve. A constant reminder of what once was, of what will never be again. 

Because she isn't coming back to forgive you.

\-----

_October_

You peek up from your phone, only to find Bellamy rapt up in his own thoughts. By the look of it, they are driving him to the edge of insanity. With a simple motion you lock the screen and place the phone next to your plate. Your stomach growls and your mouth waters by both the smell and sight of your food - a good slice of Hawaiian pizza. But even before you sink your teeth into it you look up again. Bellamy is still caught up within himself, with his eyes staring empty at the saltshaker between you.

You know why he looks like that. Why he has had the tendency to wear this expression more often.

"It's Octavia. She's probably chasing butterflies", you tell him with a teasing smile pulling at the corner of your mouth.

Bellamy frowns. "I doubt that".

You scoff at his comment. With love, rather than amusement. "She'll be okay, Lincoln's a good guy". You take a bite and watch him nod absently.

The worrying lines on his forehead don't quite smooth out. You can't blame him, being a big brother can go to his head but his reasons for worrying are all valid. Since the summer ended he´s been more reserved towards Lincoln and more controlling over Octavia. That little wish you had when you were little, to have a sibling to play with, faded quickly after having to listen to Bellamy and Octavia's constantly arguing. Well, argue isn't quite the right word, it was more screaming without even trying to understand what the other was saying. Octavia hasn't quite forgiven him yet for behaving like an, _quote_ , ass. Although, for the last two weeks she hasn't popped in unannounced to start a new round of uncomfortable harassments. 

So, that's progress.

Even if you know Lincoln better than he does, you can understand him.

(But you have kept that to yourself and avoided any sort of conversation involving any of those three and relationships.)

"Enough about them", he exhales and takes another bite of his slice. Crumbles sticks around the corners of his mouth. A little smile plays on your lips at the sight and it doesn't fade after he wipes his mouth clean. When he looks up with those caring eyes he reminds you of all the reasons you like him. Because he, even though he had no obligation to, took you in and saved you in a way. "O said that you got a job?".

"An internship, at the health center, it's on Mondays and Thursdays".

"Nice. Because that's what you want to do later, become a doctor or something?", he asks.

During the summer you might have become more close, or more like actually gotten to know each other. But as he asks that question you're reminded of the fact that you know very little about one another's dreams or goals, but still a lot more about each other's struggles. It's been a little over a month since Bellamy opened up his home for you and during this short period of time you've seen all of his sides, better for worse. That's probably the first thing you learned about the boy with kind brown eyes and scarred hands - he doesn't hide his feelings. He wears them with pride, holds them up and into the light, lets them turn and twist but never get out of hand. 

He´s always in control, a trained control.

Maybe that's enough though. Maybe the future is too far off for both of you. Too far away to take it into consideration for more than moments. Short moments, breaths, before you go back to now and do what you can to not lose that to the past.

(You both know how fast a today turns into a yesterday within the blink of an eye.)

"Yeah, I'd like that. Maybe a scientist, I haven't decided yet", you reply as your thoughts linger in the back of your mind.

He wrinkles his nose and narrow his eyes with a playful smile. "Does this mean you'll be able to pay the rent next month?".

"What's that supposed to mean?", you huff and the smile occupying his lips grows even bigger. If it wasn't for that smile and the fact that he bites back what you guess is a mockingly laughter, you'd think he was serious. Which he really is, by the way. "Jackass".

"Princess", he bites back before devouring the rest of his food.

The nickname stings a little. But far from as much as you deserve.

\--

“I'm gonna grab a drink, do you want anything?”, Bellamy says as you step through the door. He heads for the kitchen and not long after his figure disappears from your view you can hear the sound of him searching for glasses.

“Yeah, something strong”.

You slip off your jacket and throw it over the backrest of the couch.

“What's on your mind, princess?”.

You laugh a little for yourself. “How long do you got”, you say with as much sarcasm as Bellamy is mocking on a good day.

He stands and turns, one glass in each hand. “For you, an eternity”.

“Charming”, you reply and he smirks.

“I try”.

You accept the glass he hands you and it smells like tar. Awful and stomach turning. You down it all in one take and it burns deeper than fire. Bellamy eyes you, but doesn't say anything at all. When you look at him you see the sweet boy no one else truly know. You didn't know he could be that, not until coincidence decided to throw the two of you together. Funny enough, _she_ had a hand in that and she doesn't even know it. Your lip is caught between your teeth and his eyes notice it, it makes them turn a shade darker and when he takes a sip of his drink they are still locked to your face.

“Just say it”, he tells you and your lungs take in air without your permission.

“I've always wondered what it is with you that´s so”. He smiles a little and nods for you to continue. “So intriguing”.

You reach forward and cup the glass over his hand, pull it from him and place it on the table next to the couch. There´s no uncertainty to your movements as you step closer to him, let your hands sweep over his waist up towards his chest. He watches you closely, still quiet. But then he looks more intensely at you, with something new in his eyes, something that is warm but not meant to soothe you.

“You don't wanna to do this, Clarke”.

“How do you know?”, you ask with a teasing smirk.

“Because I know you”. You stop with your hands cupping his neck, confusion reflects on your face. “And this isn't you”.

Tears fill your eyes. 

This is how it is. This is what you're left with - an aching feeling in your chest. A void you desperately need to fill. Sometimes it screams, louder than your voice could ever bear, louder than all the sounds of a city, louder than your mind can handle. Maybe it's a disease. You could handle that, even accept it if someone were to tell you that you've gone mad. That your mind has been lost. That this is simply a symptom caused by a sickness. Curable or not, it doesn't matter. At least it would, temporarily, soothe, maybe even heal that void at its edges. Make it less hard to grasp.

But he's right. It's written all over your face, your eyes reflect it even in the dark and when you close them, all of it comes back. It is all so real. Just like that dream you can't shake off. Bellamy is right - you don't want this. But you can't have what you want either. You're a mess. A huge, terrible, gigantic mess.

“Clarke, don't cry”. Bellamy takes both your hands in his, releasing their grip to your jeans as they were trying to hold onto something, something to keep you on the ground as everything comes tumbling down on you. All at once. When you don't stop, he reaches up with his right hand and wipes at your cheek, strokes away all traces of tears with his thumb. “For god's sake, it's your birthday, you can't cry on your birthday”, he tells you and you look up, surprised once again.

He smiles tenderly back at you and nods, as if he can read your mind. But you know he can't, so you flip your hand in his and turn his wrist so that you can check the time on his watch. He's right.

"How did you-", you start but fall short of words.

"Facebook", he answers. You scoff. And let go of his arm, only to cross both of your own over your chest with a serious. "Don't look at me like that. How else was I supposed to know that tomorrow happens to be your birthday, which is now, _today_ ", he adds and tries his best to look innocent. He never is. After all, he's Bellamy Blake.

(All it took was seconds, a moment, for him to quiet the screams. All of your tears are forgotten, for now.)

He smiles even bigger and opens up his arms. "Happy birthday, Clarke".

You scoff yet again, but let down your guard. Then you step into his embrace and let your head fall to rest in the crook of his neck and shoulder. “You're an idiot”, you whisper and his smile is pressed against your temple before you both step back.

(In a sleeping city, an ocean away, a girl tries to forget the date by drowning her memory with laughter.)

\-----

_November_

The rim of the glass sings under your finger. The sound is sharp, cutting as it reaches your ear and sends shivers down your back. Your hand retracts, but the sound is still there even though the talk is loud and on the verge of ear deafening. Bellamy chugs the rest of his beer and signs to the bartender for a refill. He´s going for his fourth round, and Octavia hasn't even arrived, not his usual rate. He hasn't been the same since your birthday party. Not that you blame him, you haven't really been your usual self either. Although that might have less to do with Octavia's grand party-execution and more to do with the fact you're still, undeniably, an emotional mess. Bellamy on the other hand does not have such an obvious reason for being like this. 

You're all for drinking your problems away. But it would feel better if you actually knew what he had to drink for and not just accept the glass he slides over the countertop towards you. You watch him with careful eyes as he downs the beer in seconds, wiping his upper lip clean from foam afterwards. When he reaches up to signal again you grab his hand gently and pulls it down.

“Careful there, we don't want Octavia to show up and find us knocked out”.

“I don't even care”, he replies but there's nothing harsh to his voice. Nor does he try to get out off your grip, something he could do without much effort.

“Bell, you know you can tell me anything”, you tell him and when he lifts his gaze to meet yours, you know. He does too. He doesn't even need to say it. But there are a lot of things that haven't been said lately. A whole lot more than what is healthy. You know this, because even though you're certain that it´s obvious, you haven't said anything to anyone. The only ones that could possibly know, or speculate, are Lincoln and Octavia. That's if they read your letter, but that´s a big if. Because _if_ Octavia had read that letter and realized what you didn't know when you wrote it. What you didn't understand until that dream left you heartbroken and cold sweating.

That same dream that you can't get out of your damn mind.

He sighs and slides his arm out of your grip to cover his face with both hands. “Sorry. I don't feel like myself”, he mumbles before dropping his hands down again.

“I've noticed that”. When he doesn't reply you take a sip of your beer. Bellamy has been the equivalent to an open book since you two met. Something you have appreciated even more after what _happened_. But it´s more to it than just being open and upfront. He´s honest in all he does. So this, this is more than a little bit uncomfortable. Maybe even more because of what you haven't told him. Not out of obligation, but since he´s your friend - the friend that took you in when you had nowhere to go. “You know what. You tell me what´s up with you and I tell you what´s up with me, okay?”, you say without thinking twice and thereby not allowing yourself to back out.

He nods, maybe more to himself than you. “I've met someone”, he begins. “She's new at work. Her name is Echo and she's a waiter. And I… She…”, he falls short and smiles in the most precious way. “I know it sounds stupid and completely crazy, but it feels like this _at first sight_ thing and I don't know what to do”.

“Is she single?”, you ask and he shakes his head.

“No. She has a boyfriend. They been together since high school”. When he exhales you can see the thoughts behind his eyes as he turns to you. “Love sucks”. How he is able to laugh is unbelievable, but he does and you do too. It´s filled with relief and comfort.

“Tell me about it”, you scoff as you come down from the laughter. He looks at you and you know that it's your turn. “I don't know how to say this”, you exhale. When your lungs take in a new breath it is a shallow one and you feel your chest tighten. Then there's a hand on yours, he caresses the back of your hand with his thumb. Maybe that's enough to help your through this. “I didn't understand it before and… God, it sounds so stupid”, you laugh at yourself and face away from Bellamy. You´re not sure what your eyes might tell him if he gets a good look at them, but whatever it is it's not something you can deal with right now. You take one last breath and think for yourself, here goes. Now or never. “I´m in love with Raven”.

Nothing happens. The sky doesn't come crumbling down, there´s no firework, no thunder. It´s just quiet, at least between the two of you. You weren't really expecting something big or catastrophic. But the silence in itself is heavy with anticipation, from your side. So you turn back to catch Bellamy exhaling deeply with his head rested in the hand he's not holding onto yours with. His eyes are dark and loving. The small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth is sweet. All of the anxiety that has been building up in your core slowly melts into nothing.

“Okay”, he says and shrugs his shoulders. “You're in love with Raven. I´m in love with Echo. Life is terrible. We are lovesick and disgusting.”

The laughter bubbling in your chest is warm and exactly what you need to clean out all the doubts and insecurities. 

"Look, this is not what we are", you laugh fully and heartfelt, something you haven't been able to do for longer than you wish to remember.

"So not", he replies quickly. "How did we end up here?", he asks with a warm smile to his question.

"I'm not sure I wanna know".

\--

Octavia arrives with a hurried look and a bright smile. With her leading the two of you to a table instead of hanging over the bar you can once again feel the warmth spreading through your body. When you are seated and have another round of drinks you tell her what you told Bellamy, might as well just rip of the bandage right away instead of keeping it on until you're all too drunk to remember anything in the morning.

After the words has been said you slump back in your seat with a thumping heart. Octavia reaches over the table and laces her finger together with yours.

“Thank you for telling us”, she whispers and you can feel the heat on your cheeks. Then a little smile plays on her lips. “Just so you know, from now on he is going to drag you with him to check out girls”, she says and nods to Bellamy. He flips her off, causing you to scoff at his childish ways. “Is it weird that I've kind of been picturing you with a girl all this time”, she says and laughs at herself for a moment.

“Did you know?”, Bellamy asks with a surprised look and Octavia shrugs her shoulders.

“No. I suspected it”, she answers easily and turns back to you. “I was waiting for you to tell me. I didn't wanna force you into saying something”.

“It´s fine. I should have told you earlier, I just didn't really know how or if I should after all that happened”, you answer and she nods understandingly. 

"So is it a sexuality thing? Like you prefer girls or something like that", Bellamy asks and you sigh, not because of his question but because of the complicated answer you got.

"No. It has never been that, I just-". Another sigh rolls of your lips. "I denied it all for so long. I don't even think that I've ever not thought about a friend _like that_ at one point or another, just like thought about it. But not Raven. I never thought about her like that", you can feel the tug at your chest as you say her name out loud. “I can't understand how I could go that long without knowing what I really felt for her”.

“She was your best friend, Clarke”, Bellamy says with a caring voice.

“Yeah, you can't blame yourself for not knowing right away”, Octavia agrees.

“But I can, that's the thing. And I do. I do blame myself. I drove her away and wrecked what we had. Even what…”, you trail off and feel your breath fade into something fragile.

Bellamy wraps you in with his arm around your shoulders and then he sighs with you, like he knows what you couldn´t say without risking to fall apart. "Finn?".

You nod. "I loved him. Maybe not the way I should have, not the way he wanted me to. Not the way he deserved. And in the end, it wasn't enough to forget about her".

(The next morning you wake up with a banging headache. And the only thing you can clearly remember is the Blake siblings holding you and telling you that they love you.)

\-----

_December_

When you were ten years old you fell of your bike, it was during a foolish attempt to beat the neighbor´s boy in a race down the steepest hill north of the city. It was foolish because he was four years older and more skilled whilst you were yet but a scrawny little child. You hit your head in the fall, apart from splitting your knee open, so suffering from a confusion was a given. The accident left you bruised for two weeks, your whole right side looked like a bad image of a starry sky with all the different shades of blue and yellow. Your mother attended the wound on your knee patiently with care, careful not to cause any further pain to your already mangled limbs. All while your father hummed on a song, a lullaby he used to sing to you when you were a baby, with a tender smile on his lips to soothe your tears. 

He was always there, by your side.

Your father was a great man. A man many counted on and held close. Being his daughter was often a privilege as he took you with him when he travelled abroad in business. At least until you became forced to stay in school. He was a success within his field, known as mastermind. He was one of the best engineers this world had seen. But to you he was more than _that_ man. He was more than what you've let on since his death. More than you have heart to form into words.

Only a handful of people have seen the damage of what his death left you with. 

The memory of leaving your mother crying, begging and shivering besides your feet is the first to emerge from dark within you. It plays in front of your eyes as you stop before the house you once called home. It is now only a house. Walls to hold up a roof. Nothing less. Nothing more.

Tragic really.

It´s an unfamiliar feeling that runs down your spine when you walk up to the door. A feeling you've avoided since that night your mother´s lie was brought into the light. Knocking on the door isn't something that comes naturally to you, even though it feels like stepping inside a stranger's home when you open the door. The one to greet you is none other than _Kane_ , the German shepherd your father adopted as a puppy when you were younger. The ill-tempered dog has never shown any affection towards anyone beside your mother, from time to time, if you remember correctly. He growls at you as you step over the threshold so that you can close the door, not that you wouldn´t mind keeping it open but he´s too stubborn to ever run away anyway. So it really doesn't matter if it's closed or not, but the cold matters so you close it. He backs up, unwillingly, when you take another step in, growling deeper and showing of his yellowed teeth.

"Hello to you, too", you mumble as you untie your right shoe, followed by the left one.

When you stand before him, undressed from your jacket, clad merely in jeans and a tank top, your old black team-bag placed beside you, he turns and waltzes off with his tail sailing high. The self-righteous arse as he is. You can hear him disappearing around the corner and down the hall - to the study. With a deep and forced inhale, followed by a shaky exhale, you follow him. Ready to meet what you came here for.

You find her in front of her computer, fingers moving effortlessly over the keyboard with her eyes on the screen, lips reading the words quietly. She looks older. A few more strands of hair are greyish and her complexion is paler than you remember. She looks like a bad reflection of the woman you once loved.

(Who still has a place in your heart. Though, you'll never own up to it.)

“Abby”.

Her fingers stop. Than, she breathes out, long and heavy.

When her eyes find yours, after what feels like an eternity, they are filled with tears. But all you can see is pain, righteous pain, pain that has followed you every day since your father was ripped from you.

“Clarke”. Her voice is weak. Soft, but weak. “You're here”.

“I said I would be”, you reply and it comes out a bit more harsh than you intended. She doesn't flinch, but it shows in her eyes how the words hit the right, or more like wrong, spot. Kane growls in your direction, only to turn to your mother and stroke his head against her thigh in a comforting motion. You narrow your eyes slightly, but keep quiet. “Working on a new project?”, you ask to avoid the tense silence.

She nods, before trying to discreetly wipe away a few strew tears. “We're building a new wing. Jaha donated to it”.

You swallow down the scoff and bite down hard on your lip. “So he´s finally putting that money to good use”.

“He´s done a lot of good for the hospital, Clarke”.

“Whatever you say, Abby”.

She sighs before standing, with Kane following her every move.

"They are coming over later, for dinner".

"Fine", you answer and turn around to go back and get your bag.

"Clarke-".

"I'm gonna go unpack, send the dog for me when they get here".

Kane growls at you like he understands you perfectly. Maybe he can feel the hostile tension between your mother and yourself. Even if he had learned to fetch, he would never do it for you, nor for your mother if it meant that he had to go get _you_. 

\--

Although these walls aren´t clad with memories of the past, that's the only thing you can see.

In the living room, there are you curled up in the couch with your first sketchbook and your father coming over to turn the switch on the lamp behind you so that you'll have a better light.

In the kitchen it´s midnight, your mother´s sitting across from you at the kitchen table while your father stands in the door, your sight is blurry and you can swallow back the taste of vomit and vodka. 

Sprawled over your bedroom floor there's you and your phone, earphones in and music playing on highest volume, your cheeks are flushed and your stomach fluttering with first love feelings. 

Your father's waiting for you in the study with a new reading lesson, you jump up onto his lap, he coughs with a smile and tickles your side, he reads quietly with you and fills in the blanks where your six year old mind can't put all of the letters together.

There was a time when that didn't bother you, but maybe it's true that time changes things. More things than you know. All of these walls are covered with memories from an innocent life. A life you barely remember without hurting.

You leave your room, bag still unpacked, when your mother calls out your name. Seconds later you can hear her talking to someone from a distance. No amount of air in the world could fill your lungs in this moment and air is exactly what you need. Your nerves are on edge, have been since you got here, but know you feel your body tense up too. You don´t blame Wells for what he did, telling his father about your father's cancer, it should have come as a surprise that he didn´t know from the beginning. When you told Wells you'd already lost your father, maybe not in body but definitely in mind, you burdened him with something that was far too heavy for him to keep to himself. So you don´t blame him for telling his father, but when the truth came out Jaha should have put an end to it. Instead he kept your father in all those projects, although he knew what his situation looked like.

 _That_ you can blame Jaha for.

That´s why it feels like your whole body is preparing for a storm, for the sky falling down on you, for your heart to give up because nothing about being home feels like _home_.

Nothing is what it used to be.

And it breaks your heart. Because you didn´t came home to make up with your mother, or sort out your past, you ran from one empty home to another. There, Raven´s not home anymore, and here, your father has been gone for longer than you like to be reminded of (yet if feels like he past away only yesterday). 

You can't get away from them, still they're not around anymore.

Feet stop before they cross the threshold of your room and you fall reluctantly against the door frame. It hurts under your foot from where the nail in the wood is sticking up. It has always been like that even though you remember your mother complaining about it more than once over the years, and you can feel it rip through the fabric of your sock, leaving you with hole right under your heel. When you were younger you didn't have a pair of socks that didn't have at least one hole in them after the first week of you running around the house and getting caught in that nail. The pain eases and you breathe out, but your weight has shifted onto that foot so it´s really all just you blocking the pain out. It takes another moment for you to collect yourself and move away from the doorway.

When you come into the hall again you find your mother talking to Jaha. Wells is standing by their side and smiles politely to your mother when she addresses him, she casts an eye in your direction and smiles. Like she believes that you needed that smile. Like you don't already know that she thinks you're doing this for her.

You´re not.

“Hi Wells”.

The boy whom you've known since you were both in diapers turns to you. He looks surprised at first, with his brows knit together he even looks suspicious, like he doesn't believe his eyes for a second.

“Clarke”, his voice reflects all of that as he says your name. Then he takes quick steps and ends up pulling you into his embrace. He smells like _home_ , like safety and Wells.

It hits you all at once - how much you've missed him.

Last time you saw him, you were standing next to a cab and you were leaving, it was the same morning as graduation, you'd already gotten your diploma and had no intentions of participating in the ceremony. You knew for a fact that your mother would do whatever she needed to get you alone if you stayed. You couldn't risk that happening. Those brown eyes of his had pleaded with you and he tried over and over again to convince you of staying, that it wouldn't matter if you stayed another day. But it did matter. You were finally free and the only thing better than that was to get out of there, and you couldn't do that quick enough. 

His eyes don't plead this time. This time they meet yours with warmth and love. Not the love they used to store for you, but you can't blame him for that. Especially not now when you don't have a heart to give him even if you'd like to.

Your arms lock around his neck and pull him in tighter. “You okay?”, he whispers quietly against you neck and you can't answer him, because you throat is filled with tears and you cannot cry in front of your mother or Jaha. “It´s okay”, he answers for you and rocks you lightly as he breathes calmly against your ear until the lump in your throat dissolves itself.

Your breath is still shaky when you step back, but you offer him a half smile as he eyes you up and down with a worried look. When you look past his kind eyes, you lay eyes on Jaha. He looks just like you remembered him - proud, grey haired, shining with authority. Only, when you see him all you can see are bloodshot eyes and suppressed sobs as he leaned against the wall outside your father's room. After you´re father was declared dead.

“Clarke”.

“Jaha”. You turn to your mother, she still wears that smile. “We'll be in my room”.

Wells nods at your side.

“Before you go”, you mother calls out as the two of you turn to leave for your room. When you turn back to her she reaches for something behind her back, from behind her on the windowsill she lifts up a little black box. "This is for you. I missed your birthday, and I can't make up for it but this is yours anyway". Your eyebrow jerks up in surprise. She almost looks uncertain as she walks up to you and hands you the box. You don't recognize it, nor remember her ever giving you something that could be packed in such a small box. You take the box in both hands and lift the lid of it, you're taken aback when you lay eyes on the watch. An image pops up in your mind - the one of your father wearing that exact watch at your grandmother's funeral. The glass is a shade more yellow than it should be, the seams are loose on the leather band. It's beautiful. "It was your fathers, it was passed on to him after his father died and has been for several generations on your father's side", she tells you and you wish she hadn't said that, or anything at all because it pulls you out of that bubble of yours and you remember what she said only a moment earlier.

You swallow back the harsh reminder that it's plural - _birthdays_ , not one birthday. It doesn't make it any easier because of the fact that the hole of a heart thumping in your chest tries to not feel the pain of _him_ or what he meant to you, _means_ to you. Nothing she says could ever make it feel okay again. Nor something she could ever give you, even though it could be a memory of him.

"Thank you".

You've turned on your heel before you even realize it and Wells follows suit, his presence is what makes you stop when you reach your room. The box is closed again. Much more heavier in your hands you place it on the foot of your bed. When your fingers let go of it your lungs scream in your chest and you take in a short breath. You knew coming home would be hard, but you hadn't had this in mind when you listed all of the cons.

You turn around, legs pressed hard against the bed to keep you supported. Wells looks at you and you can feel it on your hands, face, neck. When you finally find the strength, from wherever it comes from, to look up his eyes meet yours and then he´s close again.

"Come here", he says and wraps those warm and strong arms around you again, erasing every inch of space between you.

The tears come as soon as you let yourself fall into him and with them comes the cries you didn't even know you needed to get out. He pats your head with one hand and the other strokes soothingly over your back while you quiet your screams against his skin.

"Thank you", you breathe messy against the crook of his neck when you find room to breathe normally again.

"What are friends for", he murmurs into your blonde curls and then places a soft kiss to your forehead.

\-----

_January_

Bellamy grunts something incoherent as he slams the front door shut, causing you to sit up and look around the couch to see what's going on. His hair is messy, his cheeks flushed and the same redness has spread down his neck, like it does when he´s pissed off. He grunts something else as he walks past you without even giving you the slightest of attention.

“Hello”, you try. He says nothing, only jerks the door open to the fridge and takes out a beer, the door shuts with a slam much like the one he gave the front door. He throws the cap into the sink with a furious throw. “Hello?”.

“Not now, Clarke”.

He puts the beer to his lips and chugs it all in one go. Okay, you think and put down your lit notes. Sure, Bellamy is a drinker and can enjoy a beer every once and awhile during the week, but he never does _this_.

You jump to your feet when he lifts his arm in that same motion as before and yells, “don't even think about it!”. 

You can already see all the shattered glass all over the kitchen floor.

He stops right there, empty bottle in that raised hand, eyes blown wide with fury. But when you stare back at him with insecurity filling your chest he looks up at where your eyes drift. The fury fades away as he lowers his arm and places the bottle on the countertop behind him instead.

“Sorry, Clarke”, he breathes and covers his face with his hands, cutting off your name into a mumble.

“It´s okay”, you soothe and take a step closer. “Why don't you talk to me, huh? And maybe sit down”.

“I'm fine”, he replies but you sigh, and he looks back at you.

“Please”.

A knot builds quickly just below your diaphragm in the size of a tennis ball. You watch him, biting down on the inside of your cheek, insure of what his thought processes works right in this second.

(If it was you standing there, hand still covering your mouth, eyes dark with anger, you wouldn´t have a thought processes at all.)

Maybe that´s is what he notices, how you don't step back but won't move forward either. Or how your own eyes mirror his with the darkness, but yours are filled with anxiety. Whatever it  
is that makes him do it, he lowers his hands and takes a step towards you, arms hanging by his sides, hands open wide to let you know that it's gone, the edge of the anger is taken off.

“I´m sorry”.

You nod. More to yourself than him. Then your hands reach down into your pockets to hide the way they tremble.

“What´s wrong?”.

“Everything? Nothing?”, he replies and sighs heavily. He falls down into one of the chairs by the table, his hands come up to cover his face again. “I can't deal with this right now”.

“That´s okay”. You pull out one of the three other chairs and drags it closer to him and sit down. You've never seen Bellamy like this, destroyed and breaking down right in front of you. You reach over to him with your right hand, cover one of his and take his whole hand in yours. “It's perfectly okay”, you whisper, fingers lacing together with his.

\--

“Where is he?”, is the first thing Octavia says as she bursts through the door, wearing that same worrying eyes as you did only an hour earlier.

“In bed”, you tell her and her brows knit together. “I told him to lay down and listen to some music or something”.

Octavia breathes out audibly.

“What happened?”.

You shrug your shoulders and walk back to your spot on the couch, Octavia follows you and sits down next to you. Her expression is still worried and impatient.

“I think he snapped”, you say and fall back with a sigh. “Like, he told me that nothing happened but I don't believe him. All he said was that he was fine, all fine, he is just angry. You should have seen him Octavia, he saw red”. When you look over at Octavia her eyes have changed, they are now filled with sadness. “I was scared, Octavia. He just came in, slammed the doors, and I… I don't know what that was”.

“I´m going in there”, she says and goes to stand but you reach out for her wrist and hold her down.

“Don´t. He needs to be alone”.

“Are you serious? Clarke, he's my brother!”.

“I know, but listen to me first”, you tell her and let go of her wrist to take her hand instead. “I was scared, but not of him”.

Octavia´s brow jerks up and she shakes her head at your words. Clearly not understanding what you just said. “What are you saying?”.

You lick your lips, slowly, as you search for the right words. This is one subject you haven't shared with any of the Blake siblings. You haven't had a real conversation about it, apart from the one you had with Raven, but that was different and you weren't provoked into talking about it.

“When my father died I lashed out. I was so so angry, at him, my mother, the world, but most of all, I was angry with myself”, you start and sigh once again, because you know that these words will rip something open in you that you haven´t found a good way to close up. Even though you've had time to work on it, it´s still doesn´t close up completely. It´s Octavia lacing your fingers together that gives you the courage to continue. “I wasn't scared of Bellamy. I was scared of the way he had all of that built up anger, of that he didn't care to think twice, of the way he was all pain and anger. Because I felt all of that. For the most part of my senior year I walked around with an anger no one knew about. It just grew and grew, until I couldn't keep it in anymore. So I didn´t”. You scoff at the end and take in a sharp breath of air, but it doesn't clear you throat of the memory of the long and deep wounds caused by your own voice. If you would listen closely, you would hear that scream again.

“What did you do?”.

“Nothing over the top. Smashed a few windows. Got drunk. Hit a guy”, you answer and she squeezes your hand. “It ended when I woke up one morning in a room I´d rented at a hostel, I had no voice left and didn't get it back for almost a whole week, all I could remember was how I´d tried to get drunk on wine coolers, instead I ended up screaming from the top of my lungs for what felt like an hour. I just kept screaming until I couldn't anymore”.

“When was this?”.

“The summer before I went to college”, you breathe out and she nods as her other hand runs up and down your arm in a soothing motion.

It's scary what you do to get out of your own head. Or at least what you tried to do. When it became too much you ran away. You were taught to be a fighter, to take every battle with an open mind and look for the good thing to do, yet the only thing you were capable of doing was to run and run and run. Until your own body pulled you to a stop and made you look back at the mess you'd made.

“I know he blames himself for what happened to… our mother. He never wanted to talk about it. And he´s been different since he met Echo”, Octavia whispers, more to herself than anything else. Her eyes are unfocused and the frown between them is worried. You wait until it settles and she looks back at you. “What should I do?”.

“Give him time. Be here. Tell him it's going to be okay. Accept that even though he might not say it out loud, your presence helps”, you tell her with a comforting stroke of your thumb over the back of her hand. “He will get over this. Maybe not Echo, but this for sure”.

A smile ghosts over Octavia´s lips briefly.“Are you talking from experience?”, she asks and you scoff.

“I do, don't I”.

It´s easier though. You want to say that too. Let her know that you're getting better. That time might change things when it comes to _girl_ too. That maybe it´s true what they say, maybe time heals all wounds. But those words remain unsaid as Octavia sighs heavily again.

“I need to tell you something”.

“Anything”.

It´s just like someone pulls down a curtain of guilt. It covers all of Octavia's face, pushes back her worrying eyes and sweet smile. 

“Raven was home over New Years”.

(You never realized what the name said out loud would sound like, maybe you hoped it wouldn't sound like this - a chainsaw to your heart.)

\--

Feet carry you with quick steps, they've known this path for almost a year, before they stop before the door with golden doorknob. Your hand is on it without a second thought. Even though that is probably what you need to take - a second thought. A moment to reconsider this. But the throbbing pain in your chest won't numb itself out and no liquor in the world can calm it down either. The door is locked. So you pound on it with the other hand, breathing heavily as you wait for an answer.

It comes with a clicking sound of the lock and then the door slides open just a couple of inches.

His forehead is furrowed with confusion and when he lays eyes on you, they fill with the same emotion. “What are you doing here?”, he asks.

But you ignore him and push the door open, causing him to stumble back. The door slams closed behind you after you've given it a good push. You peel of your jacket and throw it on the floor before walking up to him.

(The tug at your chest forces you to hold your breath.)

“Shut up and kiss me”.

You kiss him hard before he can say anything at all. His lips are stiff and unwilling. They taste of toothpaste. You get it, on some sentimental level, that this is wrong. It is so utterly wrong, so maybe it can be right for this moment. Maybe if you try hard enough, if your push with more force, if you breath with more fire, if you drown in whatever he gives you in one more second than your body allows, maybe then it doesn't matter if it's wrong or right. As long as it feels. If it makes you feel anything but hopeless, it´s okay. You're pretty good with anything. As long as you don't feel… _this_. Because this leaves you breathless in all the wrongs ways. It makes you think of if´s and when´s, of what if you had only known, of when did it go so terribly wrong. 

You are too weak to handle any of that. So you need him to hold you up, tear you down, fill you up and destroy you in whatever way he feels like using. All you need is to be his for a moment and let him take you for what you have to give.

When he gives in, licking into your mouth, pulling you closer by the loops of your jeans, you taste it even stronger. It´s sad to think that once, you didn´t mind him tasting of that toothpaste, you even liked it. Like when he used to kiss you goodnight before falling to sleep with one arm resting over your stomach even though the rest of his body was turned away. (He just wanted to feel you there, too.) Or when the two of you fought over the mirror in his bathroom, he used to tickle you as a last resort to winning, he did that pretty much in whatever competition or game you were playing, then he kissed you with lips stained white and he tasted strongly of mint. You used to like the simplicity of your relationship, how easy it was to get to know each other and each other's habits.

He hums into the kiss, but you don't have time for nice and easy. Your hands are already on his back, under the black t-shirt, scratching down his sides and up over his spine. You teeth brush against his bottom lip and you swallow the groan he gives you in another kiss. You busy your hands with the hem of his t-shirt and he catches on and pulls it off. The your hands are on his shoulders, nails digging in deep and hard, leaving half moon marks all over his skin, while your presses open mouth kisses over his jaw. Your lips feel the vibration of his moan when you suck right below his pulse-point. That sound is the only confirmation you need, to know that he´s on. So your hands abandon his shoulders to unbutton your shirt, mouth still attached to his neck, when they reach the bottom one you unbuckle your belt and unbutton your jeans as well. His hands come up to your face and grabs onto you, holding you still. Your breath is hot and heavy and his eyes dark, blown wide with lust. When his lips are on yours, spilling unsaid words into you like water running down a drain, his tongue parts your lips and the throaty sound you make pulls his mouth into a smirk.

“You like that, princess?”, he mumbles.

Before you can formulate an answer he slips his hand down your jeans, fingers pressing roughly against your center and you choke on the gasping sound you make.

“Do you want it rough? Is that what you want, princess?”. You push forward and catch his lips in a sloppy kiss. It leaves your lips wet and your heart racing. His fingers shift, two pressing harder against the damp fabric of your underwear. It's not even embarrassing how wet he makes you. Or how right he is, how easy it is for him to read you in this moment.

“Fu-ck”, you gasp as his thumb graces over your clit.

Instead of letting him continue, like you normally would and just let it play out and feel _everywhere_ before it feels right where you need it, you tug off your shirt and busy your fingers on the button of his pants. He slips his hand out of your jeans and starts to pull his own pants off. You quickly turn to do the same with yours and when both pairs are two separate piles on the floor, you're back on each other. Chests flushed together. Lips pressing bruising kisses on open mouths, sensitive skin touched by rough hands and tongues spilling sounds of pleasure. His hands are on your ass, lifting you up and your legs twist around his waist, he lets you slip down and you feel his heat against your own.

"Clarke", your name is a low growl through clenched teeth.

Your hands are tangled in his hair, tugging and pulling, angling his head to the side so that you can bite down on his neck. He hisses at the pain but squeezes encouragingly at your hips, making you slowly rock your body against him. He starts walking and with every step you roll your hips in figure eight against him, letting your bodies host both of your wants and needs.

When he flings you down on top if the bed, there's a moment when you believe that it's all a dream, that you'll wake up and realize that this is a part of some sick trick your mind is playing on you. He stands at the foot of the bed, eyes dragging over your body, wearing nothing but those black boxers. Your lip is pulled in between your teeth and your eyes catch his locked on your mouth. Your legs spread as an invitation and when he comes to rest between them on his knees you have no patience left. Hands reach for him and tug at his hips, making him press hard against you. He takes all of your body under his, you gasp at the sensation of pressure on all of the parts of you that beg for it but he catches it with his lips. He bites down and pulls back, lets go off your bottom lip with a wicked smile.

You want to wipe that smile away and replace it with something messy. Something far from happy.

So you lock your legs around his waist, you squeeze them together and pulls his head back, hard, at the same time. And the smile disappears quickly. You bite back the moan of pleasure that shoots through your body when you buck up your hips to meet his. Your head fills with his heavy breath and you hide a satisfied smile against the bend of his neck and shoulder. He curses under his breath when you let go. The same hot and vibrating ache shots through you, but you swallow back the plead your lips are ready to say outloud.

“Clarke-”.

“Just fuck me, Finn”, you tell him without sounding the least shaky or unsure.

He looks down at you for a moment, then nods like he could read you. Like he can understand the words you hide behind the desire and want.

(He can´t.)

He shifts his weight so that he can reach down to your underwear and when he pulls, you lift your hips up. His own are discarded and when he settles on top of you again, the tug in your chest is nothing more than a dull feeling. He slides into you without a word and your eyes look wildly up at the ceiling. The first thrust goes deep and slow, leaving you aching for more.

You need more. You need him to be an explosion, an eruption of everything that still exists in your broken shell and it can't be something that belongs to _her_.

“Clarke”, your name on his tongue is heavy and his thrusts are still too slow.

“Go faster”, you answer and ignore the questioningly look in his eye, your hands reach down to his ass to give him that push he needs to listen, to do what you desperately need him to do.

Pleasure is written all over his face when he picks up the pace and he attaches it to the crook of your neck. Your head falls back against the pillow while your nail dig back into his skin, leaving marks wherever they press down. 

His body slams together with yours. He pulls where you push and kisses you hard when your lungs can't take any more air. 

Your orgasm comes slowly, building up inch by inch, until you´re a trembling bundle of limbs in his arms. He takes you down, riding on his own orgasm, before he rolls of off you to the place next to you. On some level it's perfect, but on too many it's useless. You never really believed that it would help, it was the last resort, the last and only thing you hadn't tried to block out _those_ thoughts lurking in your head. 

_Raven. Raven. Raven._

“Hey, what are you thinking?”.

If only you knew, you think to yourself. You shrug with your eyes fixed at the ceiling. “Nothing”.

“Liar. I can see it on your face”, he answers and nudges your shoulder. “At least tell me why you're here, now when you got what you obviously came here for”.

It should hurt to hear those words, but the teasing smile he gives you wouldn't be there if his precious pride was hurt. Not that you believe that he has any to begin with.

“Okay, I get it. But tell me this”, he starts when you've given him the silent treatment for a second time. “What was I to you?”.

You've been waiting for that question since you parted that day. Apart from Bellamy and Octavia no one knows really why you split up with Finn. No one knows, because you haven't had a reason to tell them. They could have asked, but the only thing you would have given them would be a shrug and awkward look. But Finn deserves more than that. After all, he gave you what you needed.

"You were a substitute for something I thought I'd never have".

You wait for him to react, in any way at all. If he gets angry, then that's fine. If he starts to yell at you, calls you names and takes out his rage in you, then that's okay. But he does nothing of that.

All he does is hum. After a moment he asks, "do you have it now?".

"No. I don't know if I'll ever have it either", you answer and your eyes find their way back to the ceiling.

Finn scrambles to his feet, leaving his side of the bed to cool, he doesn't cover himself up when he stretches and you couldn't care less. You catch him glancing down at you where you´re laying on top of the sheets, completely uncovered. He seems to search for something, but you lay still and your eyes are locked on one particular spot on the ceiling.

"Don't get me wrong, I like this, but it was a one time thing, right?", he asks and you look over at him. His eyebrows hitch up, emphasizing the question.

"Yeah, you're right. Just a one time thing", you answer and he nods before reaching for his pants.

(You lay in bed for another couple of minutes before you get up, dress and leave. Your steps are heavier now than when you arrived at his door.)

\-----

_February_

You barge in through the door, almost tripping over the pair caught up in themselves right inside of it. Your head are pounding and the ache shooting down through your shoulders is a constant reminder of how little sleep you're getting lately. You cringe at the look of them, the particularly unshy pair, all tangled up in each other. Bet this would be the day your whole life feels like one big fat mistake, because it isn´t bad enough.

 _Valentine's Specials_.

You read it in your head and roll your eyes unintentionally. Yeah, this day was bad enough without you having to go without coffee for the whole day _and_ having to leave the apartment to study. You would rather be home and getting drunk with all of Bellamy's buddies, but so it happens that you have an assignment due and you haven't even read the goddamn book. You blow the curl of hair out of your face and then fix it behind your ear with easy fingers. You smile tiredly at the guy stepping up next to you and turn forward again with a sigh.

You order and step to the side to let the next one get to the counter.

“Shouldn't a pretty girl as yourself be on a date?”.

Your eyes jerk up at the question, when they find a pair green eyes you look behind you unsure if the girl is actually talking to you. When you look back at her a teasing smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. Those green eyes look up on you and down to where her hands work quickly with making the coffee. 

You narrow your eyes in her direction. “Who says I´m not?”.

“Well, it's five pm, your ordered a double espresso and I believe that´s a very dense book you got there”, the girls says with a cute smile. You scoff at her comment. “And you totally dismissed the poor guy who tried to _casually_ cut in line just so that he could give you heart eyes”. When the girl reaches over the counter to place a take away mug to the guy who was in front of you in line you can't help but follow the lines tangling up her wrist, it´s a complex pattern of flowers and branches. You sneak a glance behind you to catch the glimpse of that guy who smiled at you earlier and you look back at the girl behind the counter, who now wears an even bigger amused smile.

“Okay, you got me”, you reply and step to the side, taking the place the guy held, as you wait for your order.

The girl smiles once again, with her eyes following her hands. When she looks up a second later she nods to the book under your arm, “what are you reading?”.

“ _One hundred Years of Solitude_ ”.

“Sounds thrilling”, she breathes and your lips pull up in a tired smile. Your eyes are on the girl´s face as she works, and they follow the light motion her fingers do when they reach up to run through her brown, thick, braided hair. It looks so effortless, every motion, every kind smile she offers to the people around her. After a minute or so she stops and looks you straight in the eyes, “I´m Lexa”.

“Clarke”, you answer and she nods as in greeting.

“Here you go”, she says and places your cup of steaming coffee in front of you.

“Thanks”.

She gives you another smile, sweet as ever, before she turns to continue with the next order. As for you, you turn and occupy a table in the very corner and throw the book open. A sigh rolls of your tongue at the first sight of the long and small text.

\--

The text flows in and out of itself. 

Your view is blurry with exhaustion and possibly the bad lighting. You grunt and fall back in your chair. With your eyes closed, hands rubbing at your temples to work through the tension vibrating behind your skull, you breathe out slowly and back again even slower. The cafe is practically cleared out, apart from two teens sitting very close and giving each other seduction eyes three tables to your right. Your eyes drift down to the book again, only to squint together once again and you close the book with another grunt. 

"I´m gonna fail. I´m so gonna fail", you mumble to yourself and take sip of your coffee, now cold and bitter on the tip of your tongue. Your eyes look up over the rim of the mug to fall, like they are drawn to it, on her.

You see her walk around the counter, wiping off the first table she passes and then leaving the rag on the next one. She walks gracefully between the tables and slides up next to yours, pulls out the chair across from you and sits down.

“And you're still here, why am I not surprised”, she says and even though you'd rather be home and covered under a ton of covers, she pulls what feels like a smile to your lips.

“I don't see you being anywhere else either”.

“I get paid for being here”, she replies and reaches over to your side, grabs a hold of the book and pulls it to her. She flips through it with a quirked brow. “How's it going?”.

“ _Slow_ ”. She hums and places the book on the table again. Her fingers runs through her hair as they did that one time before when you first talked, but this time they run all the way back and undo the tie holding it up. All of her braids fall down over her shoulders. Now when you can take a closer look at the girl, Lexa, she looks younger. Her right arm is covered in a full sleeve of tattoos, mostly flowers and different shades of blue. As if her underarm is earth and the upper arm the sky. “Don't you have a table to clear or something?”, you ask since she doesn´t show any sign of trying to get up from her chair.

“I probably do, but I'm trying to figure something out”.

“What?”.

“How to ask you out for a drink without it sounding like a date”, she says and your jaw drops. She shrugs her shoulders, eyes shining with amusement, “and that was it”.

“You are seriously blunt”, you comment with an arched brow. And confident, you add to yourself.

“Thank you, Clarke”. Your name doesn't sound bad coming from her. Lexa. Not bad at all actually. “So how about that drink?”.

“Not a date?”, you ask and she stands up.

“Definitely not”, she insures you.

“Okay”.

(Lexa keeps you busy all night long and when you say goodbye in front of your building you´ve already exchanged phone numbers and agreed on seeing each other next Thursday.)

\-----

_March_

Octavia calls you at ten pm when you're huddle up in the campus library, busy trying to get through the latest chapter in biology without falling asleep. Your left hand reaches for the vibrating device on the table while your other follows the text, your index finger underlining every word as your lips read them quietly. You practically jump up, knocking your chair over when Octavia's voice reaches you - she's upset and clearly stressed. You shove your books into your bag and fling it over your shoulder, taking off for the entrance. The one other student sitting by the next table over gives you an annoyed look when you pass her, but you have not time to offer her any pleasantries.

As you jog down the street in the direction of Octavia´s dorm, your mind runs wild. You dial Bellamy to check if he knows something and to make sure the he isn't the cause of Octavia freaking out. He doesn't answer. A knot start to build in your stomach when your second attempt of getting Bellamy on the phone leads to you reaching his voicemail.

“Come on, Bell. Answer”, you sigh as you stop for a red light.

The last time you got that kind of a phone call you ended up sitting by your father's deathbed, waiting for the inescapable moment that would haunt you for the rest of your life. Go figure that your heart almost stopped at the sound of Octavia's voice and now when her, responsible and always available, big brother doesn't answer. Bellamy always picks up. Always.

You get his voicemail the fourth time too so shove your phone back into your pocket as you take off running instead. The bag is heavy on your shoulder, the band cutting into the crook of your neck, you don´t care, it can hurt just as much as your feet does running in these goddamn shoes. You don´t care. All you care about is making sure that Octavia and Bellamy are both okay.

You rush up the stairs when you get through the door to the K building and practically take them two by two until you reach the second floor. You hammer on the door until it´s flung open and your feet carry you inside before Octavia can say anything at all. You scan through the room, but everything looks okay as far as you can see. But there´s no Bellamy. You stop and find Octavia leaning against the door. Her eyes are glassy. Her hair messy and her lips swollen. 

“Octavia”, you say, voice weak and breathy from the running. You heart thumps fast and hard in your chest.

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out, she tries and tries, but she says nothing.

Your eyes search her eyes, body, face over and over again for any answer to why she looks like… _that_.

But then.

She smiles.

It´s a warm, trembling smile. And her eyes are filled with tears. Your breath falls short as she lifts her left arm, revealing the hand she had held behind her back. The light hits the ring and it shimmers for a moment.

“Clarke”, your name is a tremble on her lips. Then she laughs. “Lincoln asked me to marry him”.

Your heart stops. But your lungs take in a deep breath and you see it. The glassy eyes. The messy hair. The swollen lips. You see it all and hear the voice of an upset girl, voice caught in the mix of heart racing excitement and overwhelming crying. You see it and you fling your arms around her body, laughing, crying, long and hard with her.

(When you both come down from the event you give her a long lecture about scaring you like that ever again.)

\-----

_April_

Bellamy snores. Not in the annoying, wall shaking kind of way. It´s cute. He sleeps with his mouth open, drooling all over the cushion and twitching slightly in his sleep. You watch him on and off as the movie still plays. You practically turned the sound of completely when you first heard him snoring, so that he wouldn't wake up. The light is still a bit bright and flashes over his face from time to time. 

Things has been better since that afternoon in January. Much better. 

Bellamy ended up talking to Octavia and straighten out some things. It´s one of those days you'll probably never forget. It's right up there with your father´s death, losing Raven, getting into college and Octavia´s engagement. You had been out with Jasper and Monty, messing around like in the old days, so when you came home you were pretty out of it. Jasper had challenged you to two drinking games, both of which included you taking another shot every round. Jasper might be a dork, but he listens and has enough on you to get you more than drunk more often than once a week if he'd like. Monty wasn't looking better himself when you left the two of them outside their dorm. You had insisted on walking home, to try and clear your head. It still was a little heavy when you reached the door of the apartment and turned the handle. You yelled out to let Bellamy know that you were back. Instead of getting an answer back you found the two Blake siblings on the couch, teary eyes, smiling.

Technically that night would be the thing to remember.

But it was the morning after when the three of you spent three hours to have breakfast. What usually takes you twenty minutes went on for hours, mostly because you all talked so much. Bellamy told the two of you about Echo and how things had changed, even though they hadn´t. Maybe it was just he who had changed. Time can do that to you, you thought as you listened to him. Octavia tried her hardest to answer Bellamy´s and yours questions, ninety percent of them regarding the wedding and how it could seem rushed. Bellamy´s eyebrows were hitched through the whole conversation, but they eased up when Octavia told you about her plans for the wedding.

She mentioned, once, in passing that she had talked to Raven.

(It didn't hurt as much to hear her name that time as the last time.)

Things as been better. A lot of things. Your studies are going great and the internship is everything you could have dreamed of. Lexa convinced you to bring your sketchpad to the cafe whenever you come there to study, every time you're there she tells you to draw something or someone in the crowd. It´s fun. It´s easy. _She_ is easy to be around. There´s no hidden agenda or reason. You pass the cafe almost everyday now, to mess with her, to draw, to study, to see her. It´s easy.

And so is she.

Bellamy grunts in his sleeps and turns onto his side, facing into the cushion. You smile a little at the satisfied sound he makes just before his body relaxes and he falls back into a deep sleep. 

You don´t miss _her_ as much.

No. That´s a lie. You do miss her. Just not like before.

It´s a ghost pain. Like someone cut out your heart, but you still feel it, you still catch it beating a little faster when you're frightened or excited, you still notice the pace it sets when you lay down to sleep, you still _feel_ it even though it's not there. So you feel all the good with the bad. The pain comes and it goes. 

It´s a part of you.

You almost jump out of your skin when your phone starts to ring. You fumble for it on the coffee table and answer it quickly, but presses it to your chest to silent any sound getting out. You watch Bellamy´s body, wait for him to twitch again and wake up. He doesn´t. A deep sigh leaves your lips.

“Give me a moment”, you whisper into the phone before raising and leaving the living room. When you're behind the door to your own room, you allow yourself to check the caller ID. “Wells?”.

_”Hi”._

“Hey. Is something wrong?”.

_”No. I just wanted to check up on you, like you know… we said we would”._

“Oh shit”, you mumble and fall down on top of your bed. You hide your eyes behind your hand with a grunting sound making its way off your lips. “I said I'd call you didn´t I?”

_”Yup”._

“I´m sorry”.

He laughs on the other end. The sound of it fills your body with warmth. You never think of how much you miss him until you hear his voice. All it takes is one sentence. One sentence and you miss it all. Even the bad days, because even on those days he was still there to help you through it. 

_”So are you going to tell me how you are and what you've been up to? Or should I make an appointment for next week. Not that I believe that you´ll remember it this time either”._

It's your turn to laugh. “I deserve that”.

 _”Well come on, I don´t have all night”_ , he says and you oblige.

When you´ve ended the conversation with Wells, only after agreeing on talking in the morning again, you get back into the living room. You shut of the TV and cover Bellamy with a blanket. He snores in the dark when you return to your bedroom.

\-----

_May_

You owe your grandmother for your skills in the kitchen. She taught you everything. Even though you were only a child she put you to work and made you her own little sous chef. When she passed away you inherited all of her recipes that she used to write down and collect in that worn out old book of hers. That book had seen more mess than anything else in the world when you got it, that didn't change when you started to go though your nana's favorite recipes. 

She used to tell you that a creative mind doesn't choose _one_ thing to be creative in, it flows through everything you do. She told you that just as with painting or sketching, cooking was an art. She could go on for hours about how you cannot learn to cook, you can teach yourself to understand cooking and to follow instructions of a recipe, but you can never teach yourself to feel it. Like really feel it. You didn't understand that when you were younger, it was first when you opened up that book and flipped through that you saw what she was talking about - there was no measurements. There was no ‘teaspoon this’ or ‘tablespoon that’. The recipes were only lists of ingredients or ‘suggestions’ as you grandma had written at the very bottom of page thirteen after the list of ingredients needed to make her old fish soup with lemon and saffron. Because to her cooking had never been something you do, it had always been art.

You later realized why she dragged you into that kitchen as a child - because your father was absolutely useless without a recipe, measurements included.

Maybe some things skip a generation.

In some ways you got her to thank for your ability to trust your instincts. It may have rubbed of on other things in your life besides cooking. Even though that never changed, you're are still useful in the kitchen (as Raven once commented after you jumped in to save her from burning down the whole building). Which some people liked, and still likes, to take advantage of. When you first invited Lexa over for dinner, you didn't see it becoming a weekly tradition. But when it did become that you welcomed it.

How could you not.

She hovers over you, her breath tickling your neck. It´s the seventh time in the last ten minutes. Your lips quirk up into a smile and you tilt your head to the side. 

“Lexa”.

“Clarke”, the brunette answers, voice close and low. You glance back at her with an amused look on your face. She sighs and leans back again, “please tell me it´s ready soon. I'm starving”.

“You really don't have any patience, do you”, you tease and turn around to face her. She narrows her eyes at you from where she's leaning against the kitchen table, but then something wicked fills her lips.

“Sometimes”.

You only shake your head with a laughter rolling off your tongue. “I see”.

She bites the corner of lip and bites down until your eyes find it, only then does she release it. “I´ll tell you all about it if you get that done now”, she says with a silky tone to that already enchanting voice.

“Is that the best you got?”, you huff and turn around to stir in the pot again. It smells heavenly of the sweet onion, roasted tomatoes, spicy tenderloin and the garlic. Your nana would be proud.

“Well, I could say that I'd want to eat you as dessert”.

Her comment makes you stop the stirring and you shoot a look back at her. She smiles innocently at you. Like she can fool anyone with that smile. 

Not you, that's for sure.

“You're a piece of work, aren't you”.

“Please Clarke, I will _die_ if I don't eat soon”, she pleads with her hands begging in front of her and her lip pouting in the most childish way.

You scoff and shut off the stove. “It´s done. Come on”.

She practically jumps you at that and you can't help but smile at the moan she makes when she takes the first bite.

\--

The light is bright, like a spotlight hitting you straight in the face. You groan and clench your eyes shut. You mouth is full with hair and it tickles your neck too. When you run your hands over your face to clear it from all of that hair you notice it´s color - brown. As you try to tilt your head slightly to the side, to finding Lexa pressed tightly up against you on the couch, legs entangled with your own, and arm holding onto you so that you won't fall of the edge, someone makes a coughing sound somewhere behind you. Lexa grunts to you moving and clutches to your body before relaxing again, falling back to sleep as she lowers her head and hides it in behind your neck from the sunlight. 

It´s first when you sit up that you notice Bellamy standing, leaning, against the wall, watching you quietly with an unreadable expression. You furrow your brows at him before stretching out, cracking your neck and standing up. 

“Mornin’”, Bellamy greets you when you find your balance as you stand up on your feet.

You mumble something similar back to him. Your hand comes up to run through your messy hair. “What´s the time?”, you ask and he checks his watch with an unimpressed look.

“9:30”.

“Okay”, you yawn. You don´t have clear memory of when you actually fell asleep the night before, all you remember is having dinner and then deciding on watching a movie. Black and white. The movie was black and white, a classic according to Lexa who is more or less a walking and talking collection of old movies. Especially black and white´s. You turn around to face the girl still asleep on the couch. “Lexa, wake up”, you try but she doesn't even make a sound. “Come on, Lexa, you need to get up”. Once again, no surprise really, she doesn´t make a sound. She´s barely even moving, apart from her chest when she breathes in and out. She's sweet like this, relaxed and quiet. Which she isn´t really when she's awake. You lean in over her head to whisper in her ear, “I´ll let you have the leftovers”.

At that she makes some kind of sounds that sounds like a moan and a low grunt all in one, then she opens one eye and gives you a serious look. You only nod. So she sighs and reaches up to touch your face, cupping your neck and pulling you in.

“You're a goddess”, she whispers and you huff.

“Get up”. She nods in response before placing a brief kiss on your cheek.

You stand back up and walk over to the kitchen, passing Bellamy where he´s still leaning against the wall, now with his arms crossed over his chest.

You get the leftovers out from yesterday and put the two boxes in a plastic bag. When you come back out to the living room, Lexa´s about to finishing up her braids and she smiles happily at you. Or really, her eyes don´t stay on you for that long, they are already fixed at the bag in your hand. But you'll take it.

“I´m going to be late for work. Thanks for the food babe”, she says and grabs her jacket and bag in one hand. Her other arm pulls you in for a hug, she kisses your cheek again, then she takes the plastic bag from your hand with an even bigger smile. She turns for the door after a quick nod to Bellamy. “Bye Clarke, _bye_ Bellamy”.

The door shuts behind her and you yawn again.

“I'm never sleeping on that couch again”, you mumble. It sounds like something you might have said once before, a long time ago maybe.

(You did. But the girl you shared that limited space with had dark brown eyes instead of green.)

Bellamy doesn't answer. He still got his arms crossed over his chest when you look at him. “So…”.

“So, what?”, you ask with furrowed brows.

“Seriously? You´re not gonna say anything?”, he asks and you can only look at him, because he´s making absolutely no sense right now. It's not like living with him has lead to you being able to read his mind or anything. He makes a frustrating sound and points with both of his arms for the door, the door Lexa just went through. “Clarke what's going on with her?”.

“With Lexa? Nothing. We're just friends”, you say unfazed and go back into the kitchen.

“And I am Santa Claus”, he mocks.

You sigh at his childish comment. “Bellamy”.

 _"Clarke”_.

He's not totally wrong. You know that. At least you are starting to understand that. Although, you're far from putting those thoughts into words and definitely sure enough about them to talk to him about them. He wouldn't get it, you tell yourself. You barely do yourself and you _live_ with you, how is anyone outside of your head going to understand something you can't.

You throw him a look, but he doesn´t change his expression. You give up and take out a bottle of water, you throw it into your bag which you hung over one of the chairs at the table. Like always. When you look back up at him he quirks a brow. A deep sigh evaporates off your lips. “I'm late. To your sister fitting of her wedding dress. So if you keep me here any longer you'll have yourself to blame for her rage”. You grab the bag and hang it over your shoulder, waiting for Bellamy's answer.

It seems to do the trick. Because he grunts something incoherently before stepping back, obviously showing that you can leave. You bite back the teasing little smile that wants to spread all over your face.

“Tell O I love her”, he mumbles when you pass by him and you give him a thumbs up.

\-----

_June_

It's been ten days since you accompanied Octavia when she had her fitting for the wedding dress. Ten days of listing to her go on and on about every little detail of the wedding. It is going to be the event of the year, at least that's what it sounds like coming from her. She was beautiful of course. You told her that she was, and that if she decided on showing up clad only in a trash bag she'd still be beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glowed with excitement when she found the _one_. You agreed, that was the dress she'd wear. The only risk with it would probably be that Lincoln would faint right there at the altar if she came walking towards him looking like one of God's lost angels. 

It's been ten days and you haven't had enough.

Balancing school and the wedding planning has been a challenge for all parts.

Lincoln is the TA for two different classes, he is about to finish his program, works extra shifts at the restaurant and somehow, you really don't know how he does it, he finds time to sit down or come with Octavia when she's out finding the right caterer or wedding cake. You're pretty much convinced that he's a magician or something, because there's no chance in hell that he could joggle all of those things and still be sane, he must be adjusting time and jumping through black-holes to get through his days. What matters though is that he´s there. You can see how much it matters to them both. Octavia wears her emotion with pride and with it also the engagement ring on her finger, that somehow always finds it's way into the conversation when they're with new people. It's cute, really.

Even though every kiss, every ‘I love you’ or ‘I could never feel like this for anyone else’, all the hours looking through wedding magazines, feel like one punch after another to your already sore heart.

The textbook laying open on the floor is the last one you'll have to see for a while. You're almost finished with the last assignment and the exam coming up doesn't feel as appalling as it did yesterday and the day before that. It´s _one_ more exam and then you're done.

You hear the front door being opened and someone moving around in the hall. You know the door was locked, you checked three times, so it has to be Bellamy. Or Octavia, but she would have texted first since it's exam week. You turn to the next page the same second that there´s a knock on your door, the next second Bellamy´s head pops in through the slim crack in the door opening.

“Hi, am I bothering you?”, he asks with a silky voice.

You sigh and drop the red marker pen to let it fall down to the textbook. You've been laying in every single position possible, the last one being you on your stomach with your head resting on the edge of the foot of the bed with your notebook and textbook on the floor below you. That´s how Bellamy found you. With a tired groan you roll onto your back and pats the spot next to you.

“I need a break anyway”, you mumble as he flings he´s not so gracious body over the bed to lay next to you. “All done?”

“Yes! Finally”, he answers with the most satisfying expression mixed with that sleepy smile of his. You mirror his smile the best you can. He nudges your shoulder. “We'll celebrate this weekend when you and Lincoln are done too”.

“If I survive that is”, you mutter in response.

“Drama queen. We all know that you will out do us all”.

“Lincoln is majoring in English _and_ Psychology, how am I supposed to beat that?”, you wonder and Bellamy opens his mouth to answer.

“Well… I don't know”. You chuckle at his response and your eyes wander to the ceiling. “He´s from another planet or something”.

“Definitely”.

When you look back over to Bellamy, watch him in profile, his eyes are almost shut closed and his lips are parted. His chest falls and rises slowly. This last time has been tough on him too, but he has stepped up. Is a real change from how things used to be back in September of last year. A lot of things can happen in a year, you think to yourself. Without warning he sits up and throws his feet over the side of the bed. “Okay, I'm ordering pizza. You want?”. Before you have time to answer, your stomach growls long and loud. Bellamy laughs at you as you fires off the sweetest smile you have in your artillery. “I´ll get you a Hawaiian. O and Linc are on their way over”. He walks over to the door, cringes a little when his eyes land on your still open textbook.

“I'm almost done”, you tell him and turn back onto your stomach and reach down to the book for your marker.

“Don't stress, princess. We'll wait for you”, he says and disappears out the door.

“Love you”.

“Love you, too”, he replies from the living room, you hear the plank diagonally from the couch creak when he stepped on it.

\--

“Mmhm, fuuck”.

Bellamy gives you a sideways look, the slice of pizza in his hand dangling from his fingers. You cough at his confused expression and the laughter caught in your lungs is a relieving one. One you wouldn't mind getting out if it wasn't for the fact that your mouth is full. Lincoln has a smile on his lips, it's smeared all over his face, even though his cheeks take a more red shade. 

“Mmhmmm”, Octavia moans yet again and this time you can´t hold back the laughter. Octavia stops, mid chewing, and looks over at your with a hitched eyebrow. “What?”.

You can't answer her, even if you could find the words, because you're really trying not to choke to death.

“You're moaning”, Lincoln explains and Octavia's eyes turn to him.

“Well, I´m having an orgasm in my mouth”.

Bellamy cringes at the o-word and you fold yourself over the table in laughter.

“Such a lady”, you catch Lincoln commenting and it follows by the sound of wet and sloppy kiss.

“Please, not while we're eating”, Bellamy cuts in between another two kisses. You swallow with much effort and sit back up, just in time to catch on other kiss shared by the happy two and Bellamy's eye roll.

“Do you have problem with PDA?”, you teas and he narrows his eyes at you.

His eyes relax for a second before something wicked fills them and he nods towards you. “ _You_ certainly don´t”.

“Shut up”, you reply and wipe your fingers clean on the napkin you snatch from the table.

“What´s going on? What have I missed?”, Octavia is quick to ask and you resist the want to kick Bellamy under the table for not being able to keep his mouth shut for once in his life. You really don't need any ridiculous rumors going on about you and _someone_ else.

“I found her in bed with Lexa”.

And there goes that chance.

“It wasn't a bed”, you correct and then shuffles your head trying to avoid Octavia's suspicious gaze. “It was the couch”, you barely whisper and Octavia's eyes are blown open wide.

“That couch? You slept with Lexa on _that_ couch”, she says and points with her whole hand towards the living room.

“Focus on the word _slept_. Maybe you can understand what your brother didn't when I told him that we only slept together”, you say and fire off an annoyed look towards Bellamy. He of course has been smiling this whole time, but cringes his nose at you after your comment about him being thick. “ _Nothing else_ happened”, you continue with a clear emphasis on the word 'nothing'. Which is the truth.

“Sure”, Bellamy cuts in and you quirk your brow in annoyance. “Clarke you're a ticking time bomb. I'm surprised you haven't jumped one of us yet”.

You bite your lip at that, knowing that you kind of didn't tell anyone about the last time you saw Finn or what you did.

“Maybe I did”, you whisper and scratch nervously at the back of your head.

“What?!”, Octavia almost yells at the top of her lungs.

“Lay off her”, Lincoln tells them both and you shoot him a thankful look. He doesn't say anything more, just lowers his gaze and with it leaves you thinking that it was just a reflex, that he really doesn't care about whether or not you´d like to talk about it. Or, maybe he already knows. It wouldn't come as a surprise if Finn ran to him after what happened and told him all about how you wanted him. You don´t know what would be worse.

“I'll clean up”, you quickly offer and take the plates with you as you leave the table.

When you're standing at the sink, the chairs are all pulled out and the others moves into the living room. Well, not all of them.

“Hey, sorry about that”, Octavia says as she slides up next to you and laces the empty cartons on the counter.

“It's nothing, don't worry about me”.

“I don´t”, she answers with a tender smile. You mirror it as you wash off the plates with warm water before putting them into the dishwasher. “But, I need to ask you something”, she says and you turn to her, lips pulling up into a smile that could only be caused by the girl's cuteness.

“Yes, I called the bakery and made sure that they got your order, like you asked me to”, you reply with a reading tone to your voice.

“Great, but that's not what I wanted to ask you”.

You stop at that, but you put down the last plate, get the dishwasher on, and then lean against the counter next to the sink with your arms folded over your chest. “What is it?”, you ask, the teasing tone nowhere to be found.

“Maybe it's last minute, but I really really want you to… you mean so much to me Clarke and you've been a rock these last few months, so I… I wanted to ask you if you´d like to be one of my bridesmaids”.

It takes you a moment to comprehend. When you do, your arms fall down to your sides. Octavia is worrying her lip between her teeth and you couldn't love her anymore that you already do, but you do.

“O”, you begin and take a step closer to her. “I'd love to”, you say and she breathes out before throwing her arms around you.

“Thank god”, she breathes into your hair. For a moment there you wonder if she was worried that you'd say no. Like there ever was a chance that you wouldn't do what she asked of you. When she steps back the smile in her eyes is enough to make your heart flutter with joy and love. You laugh a little with her. You turn back to the sink to wash your hands. Still, Octavia's eyes are on you and it doesn't take long before she breaks the silence between you. “So there's nothing going on with you and Lexa?”, she asks.

You sigh and turn around as you wipe your hands dry with the towel hanging next to the sink. You shrug your shoulders as you try to explain, “honestly, even if I wanted it to be something, it would never happen.”

“Why?”.

“Short answer, she's been so good to me, I wouldn't wanna complicate it with sex”, you answer and that's the truth. Lexa does mean a lot to you. More than you've let on. Possibly more than she knows. She's important because she has never once looked at you like you're broken or hurt, she has never held back her own thoughts or ideas, no matter how crazy they were, she has always been her true self. You admire her for that. You've been jealous of her. She's been _precisely_ what you need to get back to something that's similar to who you used to be.

\-----

_July_

You huff, twist and turn in your chair. Octavia has been gone for max three minutes and it already feels like you're going to choke on this tension. How or why she came to the conclusion that it was a good idea to leave you alone with Lincoln, unsupervised, is the question of the day really. He hasn't met your gaze since you arrived at the hotel to check out the grand hall that would work for the wedding reception. It's not that you don't like being around Lincoln, it's just that you haven't really _talked_ since Raven left. Yes, you have exchanged a few words and sentences here and there, but it has always been in the company of someone else. Now, sitting across from him and keeping this quiet, it feels all kinds of wrong. He used to be one of your best friends. All of you used to be friends.

That feels like a lifetime ago.

Although, you can't blame him for being cautious. Or even for disliking you. You deserve that. What's bothering you is feeling like he doesn't want you anywhere near him. Like your very presence picks at his mind, like you're a constant reminder of a loss that touched him in a great way. You could try and apologize, but you wouldn't be able to do it without knowing what goes on in that mind of his. And the only way you'll ever know is if you ask.

So you force back the lump in your throat and almost trip over the words as you ask, “do you resent me?”. He looks up, eyebrows knitted together in a tight frown. His eyes are filled with confusion and you sigh as before licking your lips. “For what happened with Raven”, you explain.

He shakes his head. “No. No, I don't”, he answers and you have a hard time believing him.

“But you don´t like me very much?”.

It's his turn to sign, and it's a deep one. Then he leans over the table with his hands clasped. “Clarke, you know I care for you. I really do”, he says.

“But-”.

“Raven was one of my best friends”, he interrupts and you swallow back the question lingering on the tip of your tongue. “When she called me, several hours after we should have met up at the library, she was completely destroyed. She was in a city she didn't know, she was heartbroken, she couldn't stop crying and all I could do was listen”. His voice is steady, but low and vibrating. The words cut like knifes into you. Maybe one of the reason you haven't been able to ask why he's been so quiet and hard towards you is that you haven't been ready, you haven't been able to take the truth and fold it into you, not ready to take the words and really listen to them. You haven't been in the state of mind where you can listen to his side of the story without breaking down, because it's because of you that you even have to ask. “I hated you in that moment. I admit that”, he adds and his eyes are filled with sorrow and something fragile, not weak, but easily broken.

“You had every right”, you tell him and he shakes his head.

“No, I didn't”. When he sighs once again and falls back in is chair, hands reaching up to run over his head where they once would have run through thick hair. “Raven´s like a sister to me and I couldn't be there for her like she needed me. _That_ was the worst thing about it, but you didn't make her run away. Yes, you broke her heart and used her, but she made the decision to leave. Not you. She could have stayed with me or O, but instead she left. And believe me, I gave her a piece of my mind on that”, he says and those words hurt even more than the ones before. Because these are the closest you'll get to an apology - one you would never be able to accept, because you haven't found a way to forgive yourself and therefor you can't let him forgive you either. His eyes are back on yours and this time they lock on them, hold onto your gaze. “I really don't resent you, Clarke".

"Good", you breathe and realize that you have been holding your breath.

It's not all. You know that much. But it's a start. You've cleared the air and that can be enough for today. Enough for the two of you to relax again.

When Octavia returns with a tired smile and excited eyes, she looks from you to Lincoln without saying a word. If you didn't know better, you'd think that she planned all of this. Lincoln kisses her forehead and laces their fingers together as you walk towards the exit. If you didn't know better, you'd believe that she couldn't go through with the wedding if there were unsolved issues between the two of you. If you didn't know here better, you would have to ask yourself any of those question.

(And you don't. And she did.)

\-----

 _August_

"Hey, come in. I'll just need to change, then we can go", you say as you open the door for the girl with the green eyes and braided hair. Lexa reaches forward and you exchange a kiss on the cheek.

"It's okay, we have all night anyway".

You scoff before closing the door after her. "It didn't sound like that yesterday".

Lexa shrugs her shoulders with an unreadable expression. "Plans change", she replies and you take that as an _I don't want to talk about it_. She walks first into your bedroom and slumps down on top of your bed as you search through the drawers for another pair of jeans. "How are you feeling?", she asks and you turn your head slightly to the left, but back forward instead of turning all the way around to meet the gaze you know she's placed on you. "Is she here yet?".

Lexa knows. It wasn't that hard to guess, that was what she said after she'd asked you for an explanation of why you were sulking. Apparently, she knew from the first time she spoke to you that you had a history and a story worth telling. You didn't believe her, not until you told her the story of what could have happened and never will be. It was first after letting all of those thoughts out of your head, spilling them into Lexa's open hands, that you realized that she had been right. You did have a history. You did have a story, you do have a story to tell.

"I suppose she is. Octavia hasn't told me", you say and avoid your reflection in the mirror above the dresser. You don't have to see it to know that your eyes are filled with insecurities and doubts.

You undress without turning around, pulling your sweatpants off and getting the new pair of ripped jeans on. Behind you Lexa's whistling on something that sounds off beat, yet again, she has never shown any talent in music so it doesn't come as a surprise that she's totally off. It's nice though, to have her here. To know that she's two steps behind, ready to catch you if your knees give in to the pressure. It has felt like that since you met her. You hope that the feeling is mutual. When you turn around with the words on the tip of your tongue, to finding Lexa laying on her back, tapping her fingers against her stomach, eyes fixed at the ceiling as she sings quietly on a song you've never heard, the words of appreciation turn into a humming sound.

Her green eyes find your for a moment when her head jerks back, a smile plays on her lips as you hum a little louder to match her singing.

(You know that the feeling is mutual.)

You walk back to the door to your door and grab the shirt hanging over the handle. This time you turn back to the bed. Lexa's still looking at you with those mesmerizing eyes. 

"So am I going to be your plus one to that wedding or what?", Lexa asks with a smile as big as her whole face. You laugh in her direction before you put on the new shirt, throwing the dirty one towards the pile of laundry in your closed. She's still watching you when your eyes find hers and you narrow them in questioning.

"Do you wanna be my plus one?".

"Of course, I wouldn't want you to go by yourself", she replies. You take that for what it is and sit down on your bed, when you throw your legs over on top of it as you slide back to sit against the headboard she leans over them to prop herself up on her elbow. "For you, Clarke Griffin, I might even sleep with one of the bridesmaids", she adds and your eyes narrow again, this time with amusement. 

"So chivalrous of you", you answer sarcastically. She only winks at you." _For you_ ", you snort. "As if".

When her smile turns into a wondering expression your eyes relax. "You don't happen to be one of the bridesmaids?", she asks knowing of the answer since you gave her a very detailed description of the dress Octavia picked out for all of her bridesmaids.

"Oh oh, you're bad", you say and wiggle your legs beneath her arm. She only answers with a heartfelt laughter and if you didn't know better, the nervousness you've felt building up the last few days is shaded by a dimming light. Lexa's kind eyes find yours again and you offer her a smile through the gaze you share.

Yeah, it's definitely shaded when she's around.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on inspiration-feeds-creatiivity.tumblr.com


End file.
